Roadtrip
by CaptiveFaRaMiRheart
Summary: Red lights. Hotels. Diners. Laughter. Arguements. Gas station stops. U-turns. The Beatles. Flat tires. Burger King.... A road-trip to remember.
1. Highway to Hell

A/N: Because somewhere, at sometime, _someone_ is going to write this fanfiction, and I don't want to be accused of stealing someone's idea. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of this mental rough draft I've had in my mind for _months_. Yes, I was inspired by "Son of a Coma Guy". No, this has _nothing _to do with medicgirl's "The Fall of Saint Jimmy" and if there are any similarities, I am terribly sorry. I literally spent hours on this website looking for a fanfiction similar to the one I am about to write. A friend warned me not to use this title, because it will attract "Supernatural" fans. I've never seen an episode, so I haven't a clue what that means. I also read something about this show today that completely made me go into hyperventilation mode and I decided that I needed to start right away .I'm only starting this today because, like I said, I'm tired of waiting. And if I don't do it now...well, then I wont do it for a while. So please, fasten your seatbelts...and enjoy the ride.

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to David Shore.

**"Roadtrip"**

"With the hallucinations, it could mean neurological sym---"

"Get a head CT and send the results to radiology."

Like the ever-faithful interns they were, Foreman, Cameron, and Chase filed out of the office to perform the non-unique test for the non-un-common patient, which was defiantly going to be marked as a non-case. House was bored, and when House was bored, he needed a distraction. He needed to be entertained. If not that--he needed to entertain the _un_-entertained. A smirk played on his lips as he thought of visiting a particular, and most-like busy oncologist. He opened the glass door that led to the balcony. One leap over the toddler wall and he was on the other side.

House barged his way into Dr. Wilson's office to find his friend deep in conversation.

"And how long ago did these people report the sightings?"

If House's life had been a movie, James Wilson would've defiantly won an Oscar for his intense performance. Edge of seat. Elbows propped on his desk. Left hand dearly clutching his cell phone, and a stern look on his face. As if he were begging for each and every word from this unknown person on the other line, yet obscenely terrified of hearing the next words...House was subconsciously reminded of Colin Farrell in "Phone Booth".

"No...yes, I understand, but---" Wilson's eyes briefly met House's as he began to sit down opposite him. _Acknowledgement of my presence. Very cute, Wilson._ "--Yes, its full-time...yes, of course..." House began thumping his cane on the carpet floor, when Wilson's eyes shot right up at him again, this time in warning. House squinted back at the younger man, but stopped thumping nonetheless." I can do it...yes, I'm sure...within the week...yes...alright, you have my number. Thank you so much...you too. Bye."..._Wait for the cell-phone shut_...SNAP! ..._and here we go._

The SNAP! immediately was followed by a long drawn-out moan from Wilson, shutting his eyes with the palms of his hands. House waiting until _after_ he finished surfing his hands through his hair over and over again, then finally began once his head was propped up by his hand--looking down, clearly in frustration.

"So...you're ordering full-time now, huh? Be careful, those babes are alot of money. They'll suck you dry, and I mean that both metaphorically _and_ literally." When Wilson didn't respond to his normal dose of sarcasm (and these days, he usually retorted back with an equal amount) he clicked his tongue, and just went straight for the gold. "Who was it?"

At first, Wilson didn't seem to hear him. But a second glance told him that he was trying to calm his shaky breathing, and collect himself. Whatever it was, it was most defiantly not about a patient. Moments later, he looked up at House.

"The FBI, they...they confirmed sightings of my brother."

House drew in a breath of air, almost in relief, but held it...

"Is he...alright?"

"Yeah, he's alright...they want me to go and...well, basically. take him in, 'confirm' him, I don't know, something..." with that, Wilson quickly stood from his chair, in pursuit of the door. House stood up, too.

"Wait, where are you going?"

Wilson was mere centimeters from the doorknob as he turned to House.

"Talk to Cuddy"

"About?"

"I need a few days off," he said, hurriedly. House was confused.

"You told me that you last saw your brother---"

"He's in California," he swiftly replied, almost angrily. This shut House up. "So..I'm apparently going to have to drive all the way over there and...and meet him. Its not exactly going to take just my lunch break now, is it?" the door was closed just as House was about to pursue. Naturally, he stepped out of the office, in pursuit of a fleeting Wilson.

"You said drive" House stated loudly, catching up with Wilson. But Wilson did not stop. "Security's beefed up on planes nowadays, Jimmy. I mean, I know 9/11 was a tragic event, but you gotta learn to---" Wilson suddenly turned around to face House.

"House! Stop it! Can you just---just stop it!? The last thing I need right now is you trailing behind me with most _pointless_ comments a person can ever think of!" With that, he spun back around, onward to Cuddy's office. He was obviously in distress. Scared, even. Any other day, Wilson would've explained the situation to House first, and House was quiet aware of that. But he didn't even seem to _want_ to explain anything to House this time. The situation was obviously more intense then he first thought. Three thumps with his cane, two pills popped into his mouth, then he quietly made his way back to his own office.

Wilson never took vacation days, so it was no surprise that Cuddy, without an argument, let him have the week off. His head was spinning. It had been 11 years since he last saw his brother, and their parting wasn't well. Wilson can clearly remember yelling at his older brother, making him feel guilty that he was suppose to be the person Wilson looked up to, and not the other way around. They weren't suppose to be _that_ family. The broken one, the one that people gossip about while shopping for groceries.

But they were, and it was too late to change things around.

He returned to his office, deciding that the rest of his day was going to be spent making phone calls to cancel appointments for the upcoming days. But they all went by in a blur. He was barely thinking about the words that were coming out of his mouth. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Sylar, but I'm going to have to cancel", "Mr. Leonard, please excuse me, but..." "I'm sorry for all the trouble, Miss Myers..."...none of these conversations could erase "Mr. Wilson, we have confirmed sighting reports of your brother..."

It was nearing dark once he finished his last phone call. He figured he'd skip dinner, get straight to bed, and head for the road around noon tomorrow. It was going to be a long week. Just after shutting down his computer, his office door opened. No surprises to see House standing in the threshold. Wilson sighed. Sooner or later, he was going to have to put up with House's curiosity. House closed the door behind him.

"So. When are we leaving?" he asked brightfully, almost with a smile. Wilson stared at him for a few seconds, lost.

"Uh..._I'm_ leaving tomor---"

"--_We're_" House corrected. Wilson dropped his arms at his side.

"What is this? Some kind of trick of the mind? You keep saying the plural version of what I say, and I'll eventually catch on?"

House closed his mouth, and swished around the trapped air inside.

"Cuddy...gave me the week off"

Without delay, Wilson bursted out laughing. This wasn't the laugh House liked, though. This was the ironic one. The "You-Better-Be-Joking-With-Me-Or-So-Help-Me-God" laugh.

"Ahaha...No. No, no, no, no." he said, still chuckling.

"My leg's going to have to disagree with your little vacation! There's no other way"

"No, House! This is---this is crazy! You're not coming with me!"

"Yes I am"

"No, you are _not_"

"Yes I am"

"No you're not"

"Do you want to keep playing this game, Wilson? C'mon. You're going to need the emotional support that nobody except your bestest bestest friend can give you. Plus, I'm already packed!"

"Did you---drug Cuddy into saying yes about this?"

"She agrees with me!"

"House! I'm driving across the _country!_ I can hardly handle that, what about you? And your leg?"

"So? Just write me two extra prescriptions"

"Your team is--"

"--Sitting on their asses all day, doing CTs and writing boring lab reports"

"But what if---"

House rolled his eyes. Wilson was looking for _any _excuse for him to back out of it. He should've known him better.

"--What if you just shut up and accept that I'm coming with you?"

Wilson turned around, muttering something that House couldn't hear, but he caught the words" car" "crazy" and "pill-popping". He had a playful smile when he turned back around, an almost reluctant one. House knew he was on board. Wilson tried to meet his eyes, but the smile wouldn't leave. House could tell that Wilson was torn between annoyance and anticipation.

"Pick me up in the morning, Jimmy. Don't worry, I've packed snacks, and mad-libs and everything!" House said with his sarcastic voice. He closed the door behind him, leaving a frozen Wilson rooted to the spot.

Wilson could almost swear that AC/DC was across the hall, holding some kind of charity concert for the hospital. Because "Highway to Hell" was _screaming _in his ears.

A/N: Reviews, please!


	2. Day One

A/N: Ah! Thank you all so much for the reviews! I am very glad that you're enjoying this. Hope you like this one!

"Didn't think you'd show"

Wilson entered House's apartment, closing the door behind him.

"Didn't think I'd show either," he replied to the older man, who was on his couch downing a bowl of cereal and watching the morning news, a weighted backpack next to him. His hair was slightly damp, and Wilson caught a faint smell of Zest.

"Well, I see you're packed," Wilson took notice, as he moved the backpack down to the floor, making room on the couch for himself.

"Told you last night I was," House replied, placing the empty cereal bowl on the coffee table directly in front of him.

"Right," Wilson said softly. He then reached into his coat pocket, producing a familiar white paper bag. Without word, he handed it to House. House looked up from Wilson to the bag, then cautiously took the bag into his own hands, opening it. He reached inside and caught sight of three full orange bottles containing the elixir of life, or better known as Vicodin. House instantly looked up at Wilson.

"What?" Wilson said, taking his eyes off the weatherman and up at House.

"Three?"

Wilson stared for a few seconds, then turned his head back to the TV, clearly _already_ in annoyance.

"Wilson, its four days to and from---"

"--Three, if we push on the gas." Now it was House's turn to stare. Wilson turned his head back to face House.

"You're upset because I just prescribed you _three_ bottles of Vicodin, and that's not even _including _the one you already have?"

"Things can go wrong, the car could break down and---"

"---And you would miss a _perfect_ opportunity to lose yourself and get high. What a shame, House," Wilson responded rather quickly. House sighed in annoyance. Already there was a bad air between them. The news reporter quickly filled in the silence between them. A few moment later, Wilson stood up from the couch. "C'mon. We should get moving," he said, taking House's bowl and walking towards the kitchen. House waited a few moments before he got up. He turned the TV off, grabbing the pill bottles from the bag and stuffing it into the front pocket of his bag. Wilson was already out the door by the time House managed to pick himself up. He closed the window curtains that were open just an hour ago, and double checked his room to make sure lights were turned off. This was normally not something he'd do, but for some reason, he felt the need to keep Wilson waiting, even for just a few moments. He made his way back to the living room, where he picked up his bag, swinging it over his left shoulder. He took one last unnecessary look at his apartment then slowly turned around to finally exit the apartment.

Wilson had already turned the car on by the time House climbed into the passenger's seat. He dumped his bag unto the floor next to him, and adjusted his cane sideways next to his will-be-momentairly-buckled-in-or-else-Wilson-will-bitch-and-complain seatbelt. Wilson waited until House had settled in before starting the engine and slowly making his way out of the neighborhood.

The sky was perfect and the weather was disarmingly cool. It seemed like the typical "beach day" day, House had thought. Of course, he hadn't been to the beach, or any other swimming locations for nearly a decade. It was still nice to dream about one day to finally be able to do _some _type of sport again.

House was suddenly distracted from his thoughts when the views from his window became painfully familiar. 

"What are you doing?" House said, almost alarmed.

"Just need to do something real quick," Wilson replied, as he turned he way into the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital parking lot. For a comedic moment, House could've sworn that Wilson was going to drop him off at the curb, shouting "You're late for work" as he sped off.

"Wait here," Wilson said, just before closing the car door, and making his way into the hospital. "Forgot to lock your office door?" House muttered to no one, tapping the back of his fingers on the window. It was quiet. Too quiet. It took him nearly a minute to realize something was missing...It was the absence of music. He quickly dove into his bag and fished out his iPod. Plugging it into the car's stereo, he began in search of the perfect song. He finally landed on David Gray's "Babylon".

_Friday night I'm going nowhere  
All the lights are changing green to red  
Turning over TV stations  
Situations running through my head  
Well looking back through time  
You know it's clear that I've been blind  
I've been a fool  
To open up my heart  
To all that jealousy, that bitterness, that ridicule_

He turned the volume up just right, letting the lyrics wash over him.

_Saturday I'm running wild  
And all the lights are changing red to green  
Moving through the crowd I'm pushing  
Chemicals all rushing through my bloodstream  
Only wish that you were here  
You know I'm seeing it so clear  
I've been afraid  
To tell you how I really feel  
Admit to some of those bad mistakes I've made_

There was some small inspiration that came over him, perhaps an anticipation of the upcoming days. The last roadtip he had taken with Wilson wasn't exactly the dream trip--wasn't exactly planned--and for some reason, that memory floated at bay in his subconscious every now and then.

_If you want it  
Come and get it  
Crying out loud  
The love that I was  
Giving you was  
Never in doubt  
Let go your heart  
Let go your head  
And feel it now  
Babylon, Babylon_

It wasn't until the second verse of the song that Wilson finally came back into the car. He tossed another white paper bag onto House's lap, while fastening his seat belt. House looked into the bag ("_De J'a Vu"...)_ to find two extra orange pill bottles, filled. He instantly felt a pang of guilt, and felt ashamed of his earlier outburst.

"You didn't have to do this," House muttered, looking at Wilson.

"Its done," Wilson replied simply, shrugging his shoulders and looking back at House. A smile crept up on House's face, and he looked away before Wilson could catch the glint of appreciation in his eyes. 

Wilson then began to reverse out of his parking space, almost swearing he saw some spark of appreciation in House's eyes.

_Sunday all the lights of London  
Shining , Sky is fading red to blue  
I'm kicking through the Autumn leaves  
And wondering where it is you might be going to  
Turning back for home  
You know I'm feeling so alone  
I can't believe  
Climbing on the stair  
I turn around to see you smiling there  
In front of me  
_

Ten minutes and they were on the highway. Traffic wasn't a problem, and the weather still looked inviting. House decided to spark up conversation.

"So what's his name?"

"David," Wilson replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

"David," House muttered, trying out the name. "Younger?"

"Older"

"What are you going to say when you get there?"

"Are we playing 20 questions?"

"Well, you can tell me the story on how--"

"--Look, House," Wilson interrupted. "I've...barely wrapped this situation around my head. I'm freaking out, I just don't know what to think," he explained. He took his eyes off the road to catch a quick glimpse of House, who ironically had shut up.

"I'll tell you, I promise," he said more soft. "Just..not right now"

House nodded, not wanting to aggravate his friend any further. He absentmindedly popped a pill, dry-swallowing it in his mouth.

"I'm picking lunch," House suddenly said, dominantly, steering the conversation in a different direction.

"We've been on the road for almost an hour and you're already thinking about lunch?"

"Gotta be prepared," House answered. Wilson chuckled.

"Well as long as its not McDonald's," Wilson said. House dramatically gasped.

"You take me for a cheap date. How _dare _you!" This made Wilson laugh again.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were offering to pay," he said, taking another glance at House's expression.

Two hours later, Wilson's Volvo was parked outside a restaurant, in front of a life-size yellow "M".

A/N: Reviews are appreciated!


	3. Hanging By a Moment Here With You

A/N: Glad you people are enjoying the ride! Carsick yet?

"You can't tell me that wasn't good," muttered House, as he sipped on his coke.

"I'm telling you right now, and whatever happened to you paying?" said Wilson, as he got back into the driver's seat. House's eyebrows knitted together as he replied back in his ever-sarcastic voice. "I said that?" Wilson said nothing as he turned the engine on, and reversed his way out of the scary-clown promoting place. It was nearing 4:00 in the afternoon, and the sun was still beaming quite high. It seemed to Wilson that time was passing--

_"Desperate for changing  
Starving for truth  
I'm closer to where I started  
I'm Chasing after you"_

"You listen to Lifehouse?" Wilson asked, more like stated, as he heard the radio go up.

"Something wrong with Lifehouse?" House replied a few moments later.

"No, not at all. I like them," Wilson replied truthfully.

"Good, then you'll be hearing alot of them"

"Do I have a choice?" Wilson muttered lowly.

_"I'm falling even more in love with you  
Letting go of all I've held onto  
I'm standing here until you make me move"_

Wilson didn't care much for music, but it amazed him of how passionate House was about it. He began to wonder what else was on his iPod, when--

"WHOA!" yelled House, which was almost Wilson's reaction as the car jolted over something and a loud CRACK, POP was heard. Wilson came to a complete halt, and stared for a few moments, emergency lights flickering on and off.

"What the hell was that?" breathed Wilson. House immediately looked over at Wilson. _"You're seriously asking that question?" _House's expression said. When Wilson didn't move, House decided to explain to the blonde.

"Well, it almost--_almost_ sounded to me like you ran over a beer bottle and the glass popped the tire." Wilson began to laugh. "You're over-reacting, House. It was probably a rock, or a--a bird of some sorts, or a--"

"--Ten bucks says its a beer-bottled-flat tired," House said with the most serious of faces.

"You're on," Wilson replied, as he unfasten his seat-belt and got out of the car. Of course it wasn't a flat tire. They had only been driving for about 4 hours, and there was no way there could already have been something wrong...

Only moments passed as House waited in the car, when Wilson came back in. He shut the car door, produced a ten-dollar bill from his wallet, and smacked it into House's already-opened-out palm.

_" I'm Hanging by a moment here with you"_

Wilson drew out a long sigh, as his head rested on the wheel. "What are we going to do about this?"

House whished around trapped air in his mouth. "Two choices. We can either wait it out, through storm and wind, hungry and tired, and eventually die..OR,and this is the lesser of the two choices, you can get out that extra tire in your trunk and replace it with the flat one."

Wilson scoffed. "House, I'm not a mechanic. I'm not about to get on my knees--"

"--No wonder your wives divorced you"

"--and use all my strength left to try to replace a tire on my car, when I _know _I'm probably going to just end up popping _that_ one and hurting myself!"

"Alright then, I guess we'll just go with the former. Have you prayed for all your sins yet?"

Wilson tapped on the wheel, ignoring House's unnecessary comments. "Alright, well I saw a shop a few miles back. We can just walk over there--"

"--Bum leg! Bum leg!"

"Fine, House, I'll go walk over there and die from heat stroke while you rest comfortably in the air conditioned car, how's that sound?" Wilson said harshly. Not wasting another minute, he quickly got out of the car before an awkward silence can pass, and began walking. Strangely enough, the awkward silence was there when Wilson left. House shrugged, and turned the music up.

Aggravation was something Wilson was used to when he was around House. The point of House coming on this trip was to _help _him, not to be some useless carry-on luggage. Wilson had every right to storm out on him like that, but a part of him, the part that never failed, was sympathizing with House. He was right about the leg. Even if House had offered to come along, Wilson would've said no. It would've been too much for him to handle. A feeling of remorse crept up on him...

_"Pretty woman, walking down the street  
Pretty woman, the kind I like to meet  
Pretty woman.."_

House sang along to Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman". It had been a little over a half hour since Wilson had left, and he was getting bored. The ice in his McDonald's cup was nothing but melted. He reclined his seat down, and put his right leg up on the dashboard. Maybe if he was lucky, he could fall asleep.

_"Pretty woman, won't you pardon me  
Pretty woman, I couldn't help see..."_

The weather had begun to cool down as the evening sun-glow was threatening to make its appearance. After an hour of back-tracing his way, Wilson finally found the mechanic shop he set out for. It was a yellow-painted open garage that smelled of oil and rust. Wilson can hear indistinctive 90's alternative rock music playing in the background as he entered the garage.

"Can I help you, sir?" Wilson turned around to meet a typical buff red-neck man with stained overalls.

"Yeah, hi. We uh...got a flat tire a few miles out, and we need some help getting the extra tire on."

"A few miles out, you say? How long have y'all been stuck?"

"Well, I..I actually walked over here from--"

The man began chuckling as he tossed Wilson a bottled water from the cooler. "Dude, you look like you're about to pass out." Without hesitation, Wilson chugged down the bottled water, almost forgetting to say thank you.

"Well I've got a truck out in the back. I'll get my equipment, and we'll drive over," he said.

"Thank you"

Light snores were producing from House's practically ajar mouth. It was already nearing dusk. He then suddenly flinched at the sound of tapping from the driver's window. House groggily opened his eyes, to see Wilson, signaling him to unlock the car. House reached over and pulled Wilson's door open.

"Where the hell were you?" House slurred.

"Sorry, my limousine wasn't fast enough," Wilson said, pushing the button to release the truck open. Without any help, the buff red-neck named "Jason" picked up the extra tire from the trunk, and laid it on the ground. House tried to catch the conversation from Wilson and the strange man, and picked up only a few words, which included "45 minutes" and "35 bucks". He instantly groaned. Wilson was an idiot, paying thirty dollars for a man who's doing nothing but taking his time. Hell, even _he_ could change a tire in less than 30. Alright, that was a lie. But still...

Wilson got back inside the car, and let out a long exhausted sigh, similar to the one just hours before.

"How was the journey, Frodo?" House asked, yawning.

"How was the nap, Sleeping Beauty?" Wilson retorted.

They both knew that those exchange of words simply meant one thing and one thing only:

_"I'm glad you made it back alright"_

"_I'm glad that nothing happened to you"_

With House, words were nothing but a code talk for something else. Wilson had learned the language a long time ago, and was quite fluent in it, too.

A good half hour passed, and Buff Jason was wiping his hands with his overalls. "Year all set!" he shouted.

"Thank you!" Wilson replied. He paid the guy his money, and then finally turned the engine on. In a matter of seconds, they were back on the road, once again. Nobody spoke for a good few minutes. It was already 8:00 in the night, and it was pretty clear that the both of them were more worn out then they had planned.

"You hungry?" Wilson asked, to a sleeping House.

"Mmmm" was all he got back. Wilson had wondered if it was time to turn in for the night. Once he noticed his eyes were fighting against his lids, he made his decision.

"Marriot, or the Ritz, House?" Wilson muttered, as he turned his way into a small Holiday Inn.

_"Desperate for changing  
Starving for truth  
I'm closer to where I started  
I'm Chasing after you"_

A/N: Get outta here, the hotel fun is in the next chapter! Reviews!


	4. Night one

A/N: Yay! Hotels! Enjoy this one and thanks for the reviews!

"Welcome home Jimmy," House muttered, as Wilson slid the key card to access their hotel room. Wilson tried to ignore House's stab-in-the-heart comment. which was delivered almost everyday. Three divorces, living in a hotel, three divorces, living in a hotel. Three divorces, and oh, why don't you suck it up, take it like a man and stop feeling guilty that little Suzy has terminal cancer. Give me some lunch money while you're at it...Wilson was _suppose_ to be immune to all the verbal abuse by now.

The hotel room, luckily, wasn't as similar looking as the one he currently called 'home'; Two twin beds, and a night-stand in between, complimentary writing pad and pen. Laminated room service menu. Lamp, and a phone. A dresser across the room, and on-top, a conviently-sized TV and VCR. Standard sized bathroom. White towels, travel-sized shampoo and lotion bottles. The crisp-clean fresh scent of the bedsheets, though, repeated House's words. Wilson dumped his suitcase ontop, shutting them up. "We have room service," he said to House.

"Great!" House replied, throwing his body on the corner-bed. "I'll order some Filet Mignon--oh wait! Darn it, we're not _at_ the Hilton!" Wilson shook his head in annoyance, as he skimmed his eyes over the menu.

"Here. Go crazy," he said to House, throwing him the menu. "I'm taking a shower."

"Sure, and leave the cripple with the cold water," House replied, conversationally, as he caught the menu. "See, if we were maybe over at the _Radisson_--"

"--Alright, look!" Wilson bursted out suddenly, perhaps more loudly then needed. "I've been driving all day long, listening to you complain about how tired you are or how hungry you are or how unfortunate it is that you've _only_ got 15 bottles of pills in your bag or that Lifehouse's new album is suckier than the last--"

"--You said you like Lifehouse!"

Wilson's next words failed to reach him. It truly was like arguing with a child, and he wasn't about to waste his time with it. He breathed in, then started vigorously looking through his suitcase for pajamas. He could feel House's eyes still on him.

"If you...want to go rent a Ferrari tomorrow and have lunch at the Wolfgang Puck Cafe," Wilson said to his clothes, "and spend the night at the Plaza Hotel, then _be my guest_, House. Whip out your credit card and spend rich. Now, I don't know if you remember _why_ I'm taking this little trip , but I _never_ said this was a vacation. I'm not here for luxury, I'm not here to have fun. So spare me the lecture of why I didn't check us into Four Seasons!" The slamming of the bathroom door quickly followed this.

House was foreign to the idea of supporting somebody, and he was quickly realizing that, perhaps for the first time, Wilson had overlooked that little fact. House wasn't about to remind him. _"Hey, I'm a physical cripple AND a social cripple, don't forget that!" _ He took out a Vicodin and dry-swallowed it. He then reached for the remote and began searching the channels...

Nearly half an hour had passed before Wilson had gotten out of the shower. With one hand, he wiped the fog off the mirror to reveal his reflection. Creases of lines under his eyes had become more and more visible every day, and he'd be lying if he had said House had nothing to do with it. Aggravation over House._ No, House, not _everything _is conditional. Yes, my wife cheated on me, can you please just take it down a notch, can you sit the hell down and talk to me. Can I stay with you and not worry about what juvenile prank you have up your sleeve to pull on me? _Worry over House. _Stop riding that motorcycle before you get into an accident, slow down on the pills, better yet, stop the pills. Where are you, you should be at work by now. Have you over-dosed, did you slip on your cane and fall?_ And the list went on, and everything was about House, down to what time he would take his lunch break. It was stressful, and it was tiring, and it was annoying. But under that, there was only one thing that was more hard about having House in his life--and that was imagining _not _having House in his life.

He exited the bathroom to find the lights turned off, and nothing but a glowing light issuing from the TV dancing around the room.

_"So was this before or after you were doing "The Office"?_ he heard late-night show host Conan O Brian ask.

_"Oh, geez, this was before. Waaaay before," _Steve Carrel replied.

Wilson turned on the lamp on the night-table to find House quietly sleeping. And it was one moment, only one moment that he dared to steal when he looked at the sleeping House; He was at peace. His ever-creased brows were relaxed, vulnerable. He was vulnerable. Wilson liked Vulnerable House, and just looking at him erased the tension that was just so recently built. With one hand, gently shook House's shoulder. House quickly stirred and looked up. "Saved some hot water," Wilson muttered. House sat up, and grabbed his bag. Walking his way to the bathroom, he mumbled something that sounded like "finally". Turning off the light, Wilson settled into his own bed, and fixed his eyes on the TV.

_"The thing about Michael Scott is that...he has a vision of the boss he _wants_ people to see him as, and he wants to believe _so _bad that he's become that person, and that everybody likes him, and he's everyone's best friend..."_ Steve went on about his character. This did not interest Wilson much, but he kept the TV on until House came out of his shower. By that time, Conan had already said goodnight to the audience.

"Still up?" House asked, tousling his damp hair.

"Late night shows are pretty exciting," Wilson lied. House crawled into his bed, leaning his cane on the side of the night-stand. Wilson turned the TV off, and snuggled next to the sheets.

"Where are we?" House asked as soon as everything went dark,

"Pennsylvania...I think," Wilson replied.

"Oh.."

Shuffling of sheets, sighing of breaths, yet still the silence hung in the air.

"House?"

"Mmm?"

"I really _do_ like Lifehouse"

"Good, you'll be hearing alot of them"

"I know. You said that already."

"Just warning you. I know you're eventually going to chuck the iPod out of the window."

"What did Coma Guy call it again?"

"Ipp-odd"

"Funny guy"

"And that damn sandwich he was looking for--"

"--the Hoagie"

"Yeah...wow."

"Mmhm"

Wilson could see House's silhouette in the dark. He was facing him, yet he couldn't tell if his eyes were open.

"Are you gonna...splash water in my face or something if I don't wake up tomorrow?"

"I'm gonna have to"

"Wilson?"

"Yeah?"

"Holiday Inn isn't that bad"

"You're just saying that"

"No I'm not"

"Goodnight, House"

"Goodnight, Wilson"

A/N: Ahh, critique please. I don't know about my writing today.


	5. Day Two:Denny's,Guilt, and Motels

A/N: Sorry for the almost-one month delay. April was a very busy time for me, I spent the most of it managing the sound for our local "Godspell" production(which was amazing). Anyways. I was on my way home with a BK Sundae Shake at hand, when I suddenly got the inspiration. I really hope you enjoy this one.

9AM

"House, wake up."

Wilson stood at the foot of House's bed, buttoning up a tea-green short sleeved blouse. The front of his damp hair hung loosely on his forehead, unstyled. Dark blue jeans. Car keys in his front pocket, wallet in back. Wilson was ready to go.

"If we want to reach California sometime this year, we should head out early, c'mon," Wilson tried at attempt number two, but House was as stiff as--well, as stiff as House usually was at nine in the morning. Seven year olds were easier. Wilson then heard a very familiar _"beep!"_ indicating a green-light access into the room. Little-Miss-Maid was here. "Look, House, the maid is here to chuck us out. Let's go befo--"

"I leave you here alone for one hour," came that gruff always-sarcastic voice from behind. Wilson whirled around to find a very much awake House, faded "Bike Week" red shirt, cool-blue jeans, cane, and all.

"and you start talking to the lump of sheets I slept in."

Before the red could crawl up on his face, Wilson turned back around, reached out and lifted the sprawled comforter on House's bed to find, indeed, they really were just a 'lump of sheets'. Cue House's snickering.

"And _that_ one wasn't even planned," he added, throwing his body on the bed.

"Where did you go?" Wilson asked, tossing House the TV remote at his indication.

"Continental breakfast!" House exclaimed, turning the TV on. "If you hurry, you might still catch the blueberry bagels." Wilson's eyebrows creased. Continental breakfast was something he remembered _not_ paying for last night. "No, there is no continental breakfast here."

"There is at Denny's."

"There is no Denny's around here."

"Exactly."

"Why can't you just say you want Denny's like a normal person would?"

"Do they still make those pancakes with the cherry eyes, and bacon smile? Or was it a whipped-cream smile?"

"Where did you _really_ go?"

House's eyes were fixed on the TV. Clearly "Blue's Clues" was far more interesting than adults had said. "Had a cramp in my leg," he muttered. Wilson nodded his head in understanding. The hotel room was way too small to walk off a cramp. "Well I guess we'll try to make more frequent pit stops, get the blood circulating," Wilson said. House reached for his pills in his pocket. "Uh huh," he answered, popping a pill--this was House's way of saying that Wilson was right about being stuck in a car with a bad leg. Symbolism was apparently more easier than just admitting that you were wrong.

"So, when are we heading out?"

It turned out that Denny's wasn't that far ahead, as a matter of fact, it was right around the corner. House was first to get out of the car, and Wilson could not help but notice the similarities between them and a mother with her young eccentric son two parking spaces down.

The diner was surprisingly not that crowded. It smelled wonderfully of morning bacon and freshly made hot coffee. House was already seated in a booth, menu covering half his face. Wilson took a seat across from him, and began looking over his own menu. A few moments passed and a young blonde waitress came up, pad and pen in hand, and smile in place. "Welcome to Denny's! My name is Cindy, can I take your order?" she perked. House immediately spoke. "I'll take your double pancakes with cream, side order of eggs and bacon. And black coffee." Cindy began scribbling. Before she could look up, House spoke again. "He'll have the same," he said with a smile. Cindy looked at Wilson for approval, and Wilson had no choice but to smile and nod. "I'll take sugar and milk in my coffee," he added. Cindy showed off her pearly whites. "Alrighty, you two just hang tight, I'll get your order right away," she said, taking their menus and walking off.

"She did not make it all the way through collage without using those fun bags as a booster," House said when she was out of sight.

"I don't even think she went to collage," Wilson answered, considering her current employment.

"Now come on, its too early for the blonde jokes. _I_ didn't event take that road," House said defensively.

"Speaking of roads, we might make Nebraska tonight."

"Already?"

"According to Mapquest, yeah...plus the pit stops, gas stops, traffic...," Wilson explained. "We just have to manage time more efficie--"

"Why are we driving?" House interrupted. Wilson folded his arms and chuckled.

"Why can't you accept the fact that we're not taking a plane?"

"I did accept that fact, I want to know _why_ I accepted that fact...you're not afraid of planes, are you?" Wilson sighed.

"What do you think? He has a fear of flying."

"Did somebody die up there or--"

Wilson unfolded his arms, and leaned forward, elbows on the table. House just wasn't going to let this one slide.

"First time on a plane. I was nine, David was eleven. We were visiting family up in Canada. There was a big storm and of course, we had turbulence. David was so sure that night that we were going down, and that we were going to die. He made it off the plane barely able to speak a word. We had to take a train back. Second time on a plane, he had locked himself in the bathroom and couldn't even come out. He was stuck in there for hours, and we didn't even know. It was a simple 'push and pull' misunderstanding, but he saw it as much more than that. He was convinced the stewardess locked him in there on purpose. Things kept happening each time we took trips. He looked out the window and thought the clouds were smoke. Scared half of coach to thinking that the plane was on fire. Then the summer of '85 happened. He had just graduated from high school. He was going to take a trip down to Florida with his girlfriend to celebrate. He came to say goodbye to us. Traffic happened, and the plane left without him. Two days later, he got a call. The plane had went down. Faulty wing. His girlfriend went right down with it...I guess that was when everything in his life started to go down..." Wilson looked up at House, who was looking directly at Wilson. "So. Now you know."

There was an uncertain silence that hung in the air between them. Wilson had never shared that story with anyone before, and was unsure if he just should've lied instead. House's next words could go two ways; he could smirk and say "So he blames himself for his girlfriend's death. Guilt. I'm guessing that runs in the family?" or he could for once be a human about fragile situations and offer comforting words, or--

"I'm hungry, where is that Katherine?" Wilson couldn't do anything but smile.

"Cindy."

"Same thing."

An hour later, and they were back on the road. Train's "Drops of Jupiter" loudly played. Windows rolled down. Wilson had his aviator sun-glasses on, House had his Ray Charles. Ohio's sun was beaming down.

_"Now that she's back in the atmosphere  
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey  
She acts like summer and walks like rain  
Reminds me that there's time to change, hey, hey  
Since the return from her stay on the moon  
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey"_

"I think you need a hair-cut," House said to Wilson, who's hair was dancing frantically in the wind.

"Yeah, well I think you need a hair implant," Wilson retorted with a smile that he made sure House saw.

"Thanks for breakfast," House said, changing the subject.

"You're buying next time. I hardly ate mine."

_"Tell me did you sail across the sun?  
Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded?  
And that heaven is overrated"_

"That's your fault that you weren't hungry."

"No, its your fault that you took my food from my plate."

"Survival of the fittest, Wilson," House explained.

"So we're animals now?"

"Well I wouldn't go so far as to call us apes and monkeys, but me with my pills and you with your absurd need to please everyone--"

"We watched that Animal Planet documentary together, remember? I think you forced me to watch it."

_"Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?  
One without a permanent scar  
And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there?"_

"Wasn't about to eat that Chinese while watching McDreamy complain about how he has two hott women that he bangs every other night."

"Don't call him McDreamy."

Hours past on the road. Pit stops were made in which House would get out of the car and walk in circles. Lunch was brought--Ruby Tuesday. Conversation was made. It wasn't until dusk that the happiness had to have drained out by then. It was nearing 7PM, when House's leg began to vigorously twitch.

"Stop the car," House suddenly said. Wilson looked over to House with creased eyebrows. "What?" he asked bewildered, his eyes sparing a moment from the road.

"Stop the car!" House said more loudly. Without waiting, Wilson began to pull over to the side of the road. House threw the car door open and quickly got out. Wilson unbuckled his seat-belt and went over to House's side to see what was wrong. He found him sitting down on the dirt, grasping his right thigh. "What's going on?" he said. House began to rock back and forth, running his hand up and down his leg, panting.

"House, what's going on?" he asked again, alarmed.

"I don't know!" House yelled back, his voice shaken up. Beads of sweat began to collect on his forehead. Wilson knelt down beside House, but House turned the other way around.

"House, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong!" Wilson exclaimed. "What's wrong with your leg?" He heard a sharp intake of breath, and then--

"Its--Its burning," House barely said. Alarms began to go off in Wilson's head.

"We need to take you to the hospital," Wilson immediately replied.

"No!" House protested, rubbing his leg.

"House, this could be break-through pain!"

"Its gonna go away," House whispered, more to himself.

"You need to stand up, House. Sitting down is the worst thing you can do right now."

"I can't."

"Yes you can, I'll help you. C'mon," Wilson replied. He quickly stood up and peeled House's hands away from his thigh, pushing him up. But in a matter of seconds, House collapsed right back to the ground. The last thing House remembered was raindrops beginning to fall from the sky. And then everything went black.

The first thing House noticed when he opened his eyes were the bright fluorescent lights beaming down on him. And that was the only thing he needed to know that he was in a hospital. Another damn hospital, more waste of time. The pain had subsided to its normal feeling. He began to look at his surroundings when a nurse came into the room, holding a chart.

"Mr. Spencer, how are you feeling?" the nurse asked. Spencer. House knew Wilson had something to do with the alias.

"What happened?" House asked to the middle-aged dark woman.

"Well Mr. Spencer, basically the nerves in your leg were getting cranky. If you stay in one spot for too long, they'll get cramped up. You're going to need to exercise more. We gave you some morphine for your pain," she explained.

House rolled his eyes in annoyance. It was all been-there-done-that nonsense, and it was exactly why he did not want to be dragged to the hospital. "Good, then, can I go now?" he growled.

The nurse looked taken aback. "Well, you're going to have to sign out first. I understand you're going on some road-trip, or so the young man in the waiting room tells me so."

"Yeah, what else did he tell you? That he dragged me over here?" he said, getting off the horrible hospital bed.

"Please be careful when you walk, Mr. Spencer," the nurse said, handing him the cane. House limped out of the room, and quickly made his way to the waiting room. He spotted Wilson, resting his head on the palms of his hands.

"Thanks for not listening to me," House said to Wilson, who looked up. He quickly made for the exit, Wilson in pursuit. It was heavily raining outside. They made their way into the car, and Wilson quickly drove out of the parking lot before the little nurse could run out, asking Luke Spencer for a sign-out.

"You're okay now?" Wilson asked throwing a worried glance at House, once they were clear from the hospital.

"I'm fine, I told you not to take me over there," House muttered.

"You passed out, what was I suppose to do?"

"_Not_ take me to the hospital!"

"House, they weren't going to kill you, and excuse me for being concerned. It could've been something serious."

"Well then stop being concerned, you're not my mother!" House snapped back in annoyance. Wilson sighed. He didn't understand why House was so angry.

"Someone's got to be," he muttered.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"You're a goddamn child, House!" Wilson replied, voice raised just a little louder than it should've been." I'm constantly looking after you, constantly worried about you." They had pulled off into the highway. The sun had completely gone down, and the thundering rain was making it all the more worse to see.

"I never asked you to look after me," House continued." You do that by yourself because you're such a coward you can't even face your own damn problems."

"House, you _are_ my problem! You've _been_ my problem for so many years now!" Wilson yelled back.

"So is that why you sold me out to the cops? So they can take me away, and you wouldn't have to deal with me ever again? Clever, Wilson. And did it work?"

Wilson sighed. The Post-Tritter conversation never happened, and intentions were still unclear. But Wilson had thought that _that_ intention was clear enough that it didn't need any explaination."Do you want to keep rubbing that one in my face? What do you want me to do, do you want me to break down and cry?"

"Maybe you should! Maybe you should break down and cry, because that was pretty fucked up what you did. And it wasn't for me, it was for you!"

"You know, I'm tired of explaining why I did what I did. You want to believe that I did it for myself, go ahead. It doesn't make a difference anymore. I don't even know why I bothered!"

"Oh yes, and here comes the self pity crap." House said mockingly.

"This isn't self pity, this is pity for you!" Wilson yelled. "Pity that you can't even understand something good even when it smacks you right in the face."

"And is that why you're taking those anti-depressants? Because you feel so much pity for--"

Wilson bursted laughing. He was tired of yelling, tired of explaining.

"That is EXACTLY why I'm taking antidepressants," Wilson laughed. "You've got it, House! You've finally figured it out. Congratulations, you solved another puzzle. Its all for you, House. You've done it. You've FINALLY made me just as miserable as yourself!" Wilson quickly drove the car into a gas station, where he parked the car away from all the gas pumps. He turned off the engine, and got out of the car, slamming the door. House watched from the rear view mirror as Wilson walked away from the car, hands grasping his head, similar movements to one experiencing a migraine. House decided it was best if he just kept his mouth shut from then on. Something was seriously wrong with Wilson, and House had an ugly feeling inside of him knowing that he had alot to do with it. Moments passed, and Wilson got back into the car, soaked. Without a word, and without a second to spare, he turned the engine off and sped out of the gas station. The rain was roaring in their ears as they sped on through the night. The ugly feeling still grew in the pit of House's stomach. His eyes stayed glued to the window as the rain kept slashing on it. A sharp turn was made, and Wilson had parked the car in what appeared to be a run-down small motel. He turned the engine off and got out of the car, not waiting for House. The motel apparently was the only thing in sight for the next few hours, and it was better than nothing. House carefully swung his bag on his shoulder, and got out of the car. He walked into the lobby--or lack of one--to find Wilson already talking with the receptionist.

"You're telling me that all these rooms only have one queen sized bed?"

"That's correct, sir."

"And no cable."

"Yes, sir."

"And you're charging 150 per night?"

"Yes sir."

Wilson rubbed his neck, and sighed in defeat. "We'll take it," he muttered.

The room was indeed not worth a penny of that 150. Small TV with a twisted antenna. One bed. Small shower. No window. No decorations. No nothing. But Wilson didn't care. At the moment, Wilson couldn't care if they were in a trailer. He just needed rest. He needed sleep, he needed to dream, to get away from everything. He sat himself down on the edge of the bed. House closed the creaky door behind him. Wilson loosened his tie, and set it on the stool pretending to be a night-stand. Eyes already closed, he hid under the covers, not even bothering to take a shower. For a moment, House was almost startled. Wilson going to bed without a shower happened when House came to work on time. And then the ugly feeling came back. Right in the stomach. The only thing House had done tonight was upset his friend. There was something horrible about seeing Wilson upset. It was a sight that was never suppose to happen. But it was happening.

House's shower was quick. He emerged out, and before hanging up his jeans, took the Vicodin bottle out of the pocket, and dry-swallowed two. A few moments passed when he decided to take just one more. He crawled onto the vacant side of the bed, carefully, turning his body to face the sleeping Wilson.

"I'm sorry, Wilson," he barely whispered. "I'm not trying to break this," he continued, closing his own eyes. "I just never know what to say." In a matter of moments, House's breathing became soft, as he fell into the world of sleep. Wilson never knew, but the ugly feeling in House's stomach finally emerged as he woke up hours later, retching.

A/N: So if my writing was a bit...off...in this chapter, its because its almost 9 in the morning, and I've been working all night on this one. Arg. I really wanted the argument to be all dramatic and angsty, but I don't know if I did it this time. Please review.


	6. Miles and Miles of Friendship

A/N: I've been having a terrible writer's block, so I'm really happy for myself that I finally put together another chapter..

On a side note, I know I use alot of songs in this fanfiction. iTunes is always always always open when I write a new chapter, and I hand-pick the chosen songs used that I believe give you a "feel" of being out on the open road. I hope I'm doing a good job with this.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine

Wilson awoke to the faint sounds of sporadic beeping, hoping it was at least a bird. With a small grunt, he turned over on his side, nestling his face into some horrible fabric material. And then House giggled. Half awake, Wilson could still register voices, and House's was no exception. With creased brows, Wilson's eyelids peeled open, blinking every few moments--and just realizing the 'horrible fabric material' was actually Denim Jeans. And the source of the giggling. With a sigh, Wilson lifted his head, having just realized he had been using House's left thigh as a pillow. "Mmm sr'y," he groggily mumbled, moving mere inches away onto a real pillow. House's back was propped up against the headboard, legs crossed, and casually dressed. He held his cell-phone on his lap, his fingers pressing the keys at random. He looked up from the screen to the sleeping Wilson.

"Wake, wakey," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Mnnnnnn!" said the pillow. House shut his cell-phone close, reached out and tugged at the pillow that was surely suffocating his friend. "Come on, I left some hot water in the shower," he tried. A few moments passed, and the figure under the pillow began to move. With a smirk on his face, House watched as Wilson's head emerged, hair sticking up in various directions. With droopy eyes, Wilson gained focus on House.

"What time is it?" he muttered.

"Quarter to six," House replied, looking at his watch. "Now come on, Salt Lake City tonight!" Wilson rubbed his eyes, while dragging his body off the queen-sized bed, wobbling himself in the small bathroom. When he heard the door lock, a smile suddenly crept on House's face. Step one of House's Brilliant Day To Make Up For Last Night was already in progress.

"Are you going to finish that pancake?"

Wilson looked up from his breakfast plate to see House quizzically looking over.

"House, we're in IHOP. If you want some more pancakes, just ask!" explained Wilson to House, who was already finished with his own breakfast, and just starting on his second cup of coffee.

Day three had started out earlier than the last time. They had quickly checked out of the run-down motel, and headed out for breakfast. House's choice--again, but Wilson was not complaining. A few minutes had passed until House decided to speak again, clearing his throat in an uncertain way.

"I'm sorry about last night," he muttered timidly. Wilson once again looked up from his plate, and at House, who had just offered an apology. He returned his eyes back to his pancakes, resuming his motions with his fork. House could swear a smirk played around his lips.

"So you're repaying me with breakfast...," he said before gulping down his food.

"And lunch," House added, leaning back, and folding his arms across his chest. "On who gets to pick the restaurant, well, that's debatable, but I'm sure--"

"--House," Wilson interrupted, silencing him. His eyes read of partial amusement, and House was still detecting the smirk. He put his fork down, and crossed his arms across his chest, similar to House's.

"It's--we're--," he started, searching for the correct words. His eyes darted to the floor, then back up at House's, who was surely intrigued.

"Its what we do...you know, we're always going to disagree on things, we're always going to say things that--"

"--you're saying our friendship is formulaic."

"--I guess I just didn't prepare--I forgot who I was traveling with," he said. House stared for a few moments, wondering what that last sentence had meant. Surely Wilson wasn't pinning last night on himself? House slowly began to nod, wondering how he was suppose to react. When he figured that comment was safe enough, he proceeded being House.

"I guess you _did_ forget," he winked, reaching over, and grabbing the fork-full of the last of Wilson's pancakes. Wilson didn't even try to rescue the pancakes, even though he could've easily stopped House's arm. He just couldn't help but shake his head and break into a smile...

_"Put on my blue suede shoes  
And I boarded the plane  
Touched down in the land of the  
Delta Blues In the middle of the pouring rain  
W.C. Handy - wont you look down over me  
Yeah I got a first class ticket  
But I'm as blue as a girl can be"_

Wilson had his window rolled down, enjoying being in the passanger seat for once. House was driving twice as fast as Wilson normally would, one arm extended out the window with the breeze, the other on the wheel. Cher's 'Walking in Memphis" played on the iPod.

_"Then I'm walking in Memphis  
Walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale  
Walking in Memphis  
But do I really feel the way I feel?"_

"Thanks for breakfast," Wilson said casually, turning his head towards House.

"I thought you paid?" House replied sarcastically, stopping the car at a red light.

"Ha-ha-ha."

"Grab me a bottle of Vicodin," House said, gesturing his head towards the backseats. Wilson reached over, bringing House's backpack on his lap. Unzipping the bag, he sighed. "Finished already with the other bottle?" House breathed in, tapping his fingers against the wheel.

"I left Shereen at the funeral home," answered House, almost embarrassed.

"It was the only motel in sight, you know that."

"We could've set up camp."

"And now you're _naming_ your pills?"

"But of course with all that rain...no way it could've held up."

"You brought In Touch with you?" said Wilson, handing House the new bottle while taking out the celeb trash magazine, a distraught-looking Britney Spears gracing the glossy cover.

"The custody battle is heating up," House informed, dry swallowing a pill.

"How could you read this garbage?" Wilson wondered, carefully examining the pages.

"How could you not?" House argued back. "Compelling lives of the rich and famous. Every day is a drama. Its like TV, only the pictures don't move."

"No, its more like people so bored with they're own lives that they have to read what _other_ people are doing with theirs," Wilson replied, looking at a scantly-clad Paris

Hilton out and about the town. "See, nobody cares that Paris Hilton was out shopping for carrots," he added, pointing to the picture. "_I_ do that."

"Are we about to discuss the gamut lives between you and Paris?" House said, throwing a pathetic look at Wilson.

"I'm a doctor, what has _she_ done with her life?" Wilson replied defensively. House's mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"Have you not _seen_ the tape?"

"Yeah, I think it was that night that you forced me onto your couch and wouldn't let me leave until I saw it."

"God knows you needed it. I always knew you weren't getting any with Julie," House sniggered.

"Oh you...kept track of when we had sex...that's really thoughtful of you. Although next time, I suggest--"

"--You were so miserable you were practically coming onto _me_!" laughed House.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"And what did I do? I dragged myself out of bed nearly every night, took you to some bar and got you drunk until you were puking all over the pool table," House reminisced.

"Nnnnnnno," Wilson said slowly, trying to recall. Just as House turned his face to him, Wilson began to remember. "No, oh yeah, no, that one was with Bonnie."

"Ahh, Bonners."

"With Julie, you completly tortured me."

"Hey, I was only trying to make you--"

"--kill myself?!"

"Smile!"

"Dipping my hand in warm water while sleeping is not the same as actually sitting down and having a human conversation."

"Well, we're conversating now."

"Am I going through a divorce?!"

"Are you? Its so hard to keep track these days."

Wilson stared at House for a few moments, then rolled up the magazine, and gave the top of House's head a whack with it.

"OW!" exclaimed House, reaching with one hand to protect his head. "What the hell, Wilson! Was that what your wives did to you when you told them to give you hea--" WHACK!

"Shut up and _drive_!" laughed Wilson, obviously enjoying this newfound power.

"Wha--would _you_ like to drive? You practically gave me a goddamn concussion!"

"Whacking your head with a magazine? That gave you a concussion?"

"Where am I? Its like _Memento_."

"I always thought you looked a little like Gary Sinise," Wilson remarked, remembering the film.

"Ewan Mcgregor, you idiot," House replied.

"No, it was Guy Ritche..." Wilson slowly said.

"Uhhhh..." House began, thinking. "Pierce Brosnen..."

"GUY PEARCE!" was then shouted instantly in unison. The two men then began laughing together like two schoolgirls having just spotted the high school hottie in the mall.

House had decided that the Burger King drive-through was more convienant than actually stopping for a rest (although Wilson's constant "your leg needs to stretch" might've had something to do with it).

"You forgot to ask for ketchup," Wilson said, as he snacked on some hot fries from a bag.

"I'm sure they charge for the packets," House replied, taking one hand off the wheel to reach into the bag of food.

"House, seriously. There's a rest-stop on the next exit," Wilson said, seeing how ridiculous the situation looked, with House trying to eat a burger and drive at the same time.

"You're just worried about your precious steering wheel smelling like mayonaise,"came the retort. Still, they were parked and eating steady a good fifteen minutes later.

"Alright, there are about seven vacant benches all around you. There's no need to--" Wilson started as he made he way back from the restroom, House coming into view with his body reclining on the front of the car, propping his elbows up as he ate.

"--Stop nagging and get over here," House said, chewing on his Whopper. Wilson sighed and slowly got on top of the hood of his own car, legs dangling. "Hand me my drink," Wilson said, turning his body towards House, who was holding out his cup. Wilson reached over and took it. Not far ahead, a young couple held each other on one of the benches,and started showing--

"Public displays of affection," House stated outloud to Wilson. Wilson looked around and spotted the couple, who were practically eating each other's faces.

"They're in love," Wilson shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

"Yeah but did you do that when you--"

"Alright, enough with the ex-wives jokes. You've reached your quota for the day," Wilson said annoyed.

"Well then I'm going over my limit."

"Kinda like what you did on the road?"

"Hey, 80 is the new 60."

"Since you rebel against rules all the time, how would you be in a world where there _are_ no rules? Would you...make up rules and then follow them?"

"I'm trying to ignore you," House stated.

"Because eating a Whopper while staring at strangers like a physco killer is way more exciting than talking to me?"

"Yup,"House replied, gulping down the last of his food. Wilson nodded, getting himself off the car. House crumpled the wrapper, then made a passing attempt to score into the nearby garbage can. He jumped off the car, and got into the driver's seat, Wilson already buckling himself in.

They set back on the road again. The evening's orange light was begining to show on the horizon. Jackson Browne's "The Pretender" was playing, with House confidently singing along.

" _I'm going to rent myself a house  
In the shade of the freeway  
I'm going to pack my lunch in the morning  
And go to work each day_

_And when the evening rolls around  
I'll go on home and lay my body down  
And when the morning light comes streaming in  
I'll get up and do it again  
Amen"_

House was musically talented in many ways, and Wilson had secretly enjoyed the rare times where House would burst out in song. Shades on, looking forward, Wilson just listened. But House caught on to Wilson's inner enthusiasm.

"You like this song? House asked casually, finishing the first verse.

"Its alright," Wilson replied, keeping his eyes ahead.

"I know you know the lyrics," House teased, as he began on the second verse, singing it a bit louder than the first verse, and Wilson wondered if it was on purpose.

_"I want to know what became of the changes  
We waited for love to bring  
Were they only the fitful dreams  
Of some greater awakening?"_

"C'mon, sing the song with me," House encouraged.

"House, I--" Wilson began to protest.

"C'monnnn!" he said again, playfully.

_"I've been aware of the time going by  
They say in the end it's the wink of an eye_--sing it with me!" House said loudly, turning the volume up. It amazed Wilson how enthusiastic House always became for music. It always brought out a side that Wilson wouldn't mind to see more often. It was a good song, a classic one too. And Wilson figured now or never.

"--_and when the morning light comes streaming in, you'll get up and do it again_. _Amen_" Wilson started, almost forcefully, but he couldn't hide the excitement.

"There you go!" House shouted, smiling widely. It was contagious, almost like a jolt of energy going through Wilson, and he couldn't help but continue.

_"Caught--between the longing for love and the struggle for the legal tender!" _ he continued, singing loudly.

"--_Where the sirens sing--" _House yelled through the wind.

_"--and the church bells ring-__-__" _Wilson added.

"_AND THE JUNK MAN POUNDS HIS FENDER!!"_

_"WHERE THE VETERANS DREAM OF THE FIGHT, FAST ASLEEP AT THE TRAFFIC LIGHT"_

_"--AND THE CHILDREN SOMONLY WAIT FOR THE ICE-CREAM VENDOR"_

_"Out into the cool of the evening strolls the Pretender" _ they both sang, lowering only a notch to create effect.

"_He knows that all his open dreams begining end-air" _ sang Wilson.

"Hopes and dreams BEGIN and END there!" corrected House.

"No--" defended Wilson.

"Begining end-air? Really, Wilson?" House said.

"Well that's what he said!"

"That is NOT what he said," said House, laughing almost uncontrollably.

"Whatever, House," Wilson laughed, fully knowing that House was right. They both continued singing the song until its last note, but even then they were still laughing

though at this point, neither knew why. To any passerby, one might call it a 'friendship high' moment.

"Wheeww!" exclaimed House, throwing Wilson a big smile.

"Thank you, thank you!" Wilson said. "I'll be here till '10!" he added to the imaginary audience.

"Signing autographs," said House.

"--And accepting roses," added Wilson.

"--And marriage proposals," challenged House.

"--And old-man canes!"

"--And blow-dryers!"

"--And Toupee's!"

"--AND FREAKY-LOOKING TIES!!"

"Alright, there is _nothing_ wrong with my ties!" Wilson said in defense.

"Says the man with the purple tie with orange dots," House coughed.

"There's nothing wrong with a man liking a little color."

"Hahhh yeah, if you're Jake Gyllanhall."

"What does--ohh," Wilson said, getting the _Brokeback Mountain_ reference.

The sun had already began to go down as they continued their way on the road, making more puns and jokes, poking at each other's flaws--in other words--being best

friends the House-And-Wilson way.

"What does that sign say?" House asked, driving up to a small secluded location, that almost looked like a bar--an outside one. Small round tables were everywhere seated for four, waiters were serving people, and there was a small stage in the middle.

"Uhhh...'Tonight...Henry K. HeGuessyes',"Wilson read.

"Hmm..," House said, making his way towards the small parking spaces.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Wilson asked as House parked the car. House turned off the engine, and faced Wilson.

"That sign you just read...keep saying the name and you'll eventually find out," House said getting out of the car, leaving a dumbfounded Wilson, who followed seconds later.

They both approached the outside event quickly.There were about forty people in the audience, seated. The stage was occupied by musicians tuning up their instruments. House found the nearest table, which was occupied by two females.

"May we?" House asked, gesturing to the two empty seats left.

"Oh,sure, go ahead!" answered one of the girls. She was young and blonde with a pretty face. The other, a brunette, with curls going down to her waist. House seated himself, and Wilson timidly took the other seat.

"You boys are just in time," the brunette spoke up to them,

"For what?" Wilson asked, but just as the girl was about to answer, the host's voice boomed over the speakers set all around the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Latin's finest--Enrique Iglesias!"

The audience burst into applause and cheers as the famed Enrique stepped out onto the stage, microphone at hand, waving to the seated audience. Wilson's eyebrows creased as he turned to House.

"But the sign said 'Henry K..." he started, then figuring out the alias name for the singer, which was a strategy used for most artists who want to attract a small audience.

"How are we doing tonight!" Enrique said, taking a seat on a stool conviently placed center-stage. The small gathering of people burst once again in applause.

"Alright, this first song I wrote..." he began.

"Hope you like Budweiser!" the blonde shouted just as a server came over their shoulders, offering them beer. Both men gladly accepted, casually. A catchy song entitled "Tired Of Being Sorry" began to play over the booming speakers.

_"I don't know why  
You want to follow me tonight  
When in the rest of the world  
With whom I've crossed and I've quarreled  
Let's me down so  
For a thousand reasons that I know  
To share forever the unrest  
With all the demons I possess  
Beneath the silver moon"_

"Sing it, Enrique!" the brunette shouted.

"Woo!" the other added.

_"Maybe you were right  
But baby I was lonely  
I don't want to fight  
I'm tired of being sorry"_

"Do you like this song?" the blonde called out to House, who leaned in to hear his answer.

"Its nice!" House replied.

"I'm Tori," she extended a hand.

"Greg," he replied, shaking her hand. He looked over to Wilson, who was --in no surprise--already chatting up with the brunette.

"What brought you here?" House said, starting conversation.

"We finished our last day of college today," Tori explained. "So this is like...the first of many celebrations we have planned. We have a flight to Vegas tomorrow."

"I love the Vegas!" House replied. Tori giggled.

"So whats up with your leg?" she asked politely, noticing the cane. House decided that Miss College Graduate didn't need to know.

"I was in the war around '03," he said, which earned him an immediate "aww" from her. The tempo of the song gradually began to change as Enrique went straight into his next song, the well-known "Hero".

"I _love _this song!" the brunette called Gaby exclaimed to Wilson, who smiled. She then gasped excitedly. "Do you want to dance with me?"

"Oh, I don't--I don't really dance," Wilson began chuckling. Gaby stood from her chair, and held onto Wilson's hand, urging him from his seat. "C'mon, it'll be fun!" she said.

Wilson stood up from his seat, giving House a 'wish me luck' look. House winked at him, then waved as they disappeared into the crowd.

"Awww your friend is _so_ sweet," Tori said, smiling. House looked back, seeing how his friend held the brunette close as they began to dance. His mouth widened to a smile. "Yeah, he is."

House and Tori then went into light conversation, and she talked excitedly while he intently listened. Gaby didn't return Wilson until about an hour afterwards--who looked worn out yet enjoying himself. Enrique finished up "Can't Escape My Love" which was apparently his last number of the night as he thanked everyone and bowed off the small stage. After a few minutes, people began clearing off from their tables, casual empty beer bottles on the floor.

"Well we better head out," Tori said to House, as they both stood up. "We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"We'll Tori, you've got my number--"

"--I've got your number," she confirmed. "And uh, well, yeah thanks _sooo _much for tonight! I had alot of fun," she exclaimed. "And uh...it seems Gaby and your friend over there seemed to have had some fun too!" she added, pointing towards Wilson and Gaby, who were hard to make out from the shadows they were standing in, doing God-knows-what.

"Atta-boy,"House muttered under his breath. Wilson walked Gaby to her car, then met up with House, who was leaning on the driver's side.

"You all good for the week now?" House said. Wilson chuckled.

"Shut up, House," he said as they got into the car.

Thankfully, there was a Best Western not too far ahead. They checked in for one night. And thankfully, the room they were staying in was about twice as large as the last. Cable TV, two beds, room service. Showers were taken, and beds were crawled into. It was nearing midnight, and both men were too tired to even entertain themselves with some TV. Less than an hour after the check-in, the lights were off.

"Hey House?" Wilson started, hoping that House wasn't yet asleep.

"Yeah?" he answered from the other bed not far away.

"Thank you."

"For what?" House asked.

"For coming with me...I don't know, today was--today was really great," Wilson explained softly. House turned to his side, to face Wilson, who was seen through the

moonlight.

"That's because we made it great," House started. He then cleared his throat, and lowered his voice, almost to a whisper.

"I'm glad you haven't kicked me to the curb yet."

"Mmmm,"Wilson replied, smiling, closing his eyes.

"That one was literal and metaphorical," House added. Wilson opened his eyes and smiled again. In House world, Wilson barely got a verbal expression as to what their friendship meant to each other.

"I'll never do that to you, House," Wilson whispered, barely audible. House smiled again for the umpteenth time that day, a warm feeling coming over him. "I know," he finally replied.

"Goodnight, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson."

A/N: Alright, I believe this is my longest chapter yet.. As I have stated, music is crucial, so I strongly recommend downloading the songs used in this chapter to help you get that 'feel' if you haven't already. Please review. I wrote this one over a period of two nights, so I'm not sure about characterization. I'm sure I've made many mistakes. Please point them out, and I'll fix them right away. Thanks so much!


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